


Being Me To Life

by ManaMoiMemeMoitie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dreams Are More Dangerous Than Reality, Fake Character Death, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Trigger Warning - Depression, Trigger Warning - Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManaMoiMemeMoitie/pseuds/ManaMoiMemeMoitie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes was just as much of himself as John’s mind allowed him to be. He was just as real as the Sherlock Holmes John had known, but he wasn’t real; he was just a dream, a thought of longing that had taken shape in John’s sub-conscience as the form of the man John had loved most, Sherlock Holmes. He was whatever John wanted him to be whether it be a hero protecting John from the nightmares of the fall or, more often than naught, a warm shoulder to cry upon as John tried to come to terms with the death of his closest friend and ally. He saved John from the depressive darkness that threatened to consume him entirely until John was no more than what the actual Sherlock Holmes was, a dead man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes was just as much of himself as John’s mind allowed him to be. He was just as real as the Sherlock Holmes John had known, but he wasn’t real; he was just a dream, a thought of longing that had taken shape in John’s sub-conscience as the form of the man John had loved most, Sherlock Holmes. He was whatever John wanted him to be whether it be a hero protecting John from the nightmares of the fall or, more often than naught, a warm shoulder to cry upon as John tried to come to terms with the death of his closest friend and ally. He saved John from the depressive darkness that threatened to consume him entirely until John was no more than what the actual Sherlock Holmes was, a dead man.  
He was just a dream and with being a dream came a power and an overwhelming urge to make John happy, to give him whatever he could possibly want and make him smile by doing so. Sherlock rarely got to see John smile since the fall of the actual Sherlock had taken place, but each time John succumbed to sleep, Sherlock tried his absolute hardest to make John happy, just to see that bright smile of his again. When John arrived in his world of dreaming, Sherlock embraced him, wrapping his arms gently around the man he already knew to be upset simply by the fact that it was raining outside the window of 221B when he arrived.  
“It’s alright,” Sherlock whispered in a calming voice as John slipped easily into his arms and began to cry quietly against his chest, “I’m here. Nothing’s going to ever harm you again, I promise.”  
John shook his head and fisted his hands tightly into the fabric of Sherlock’s shirt, holding him to his body in a way that wouldn’t allow Sherlock to leave him or abandon him. It didn’t matter how many times he dreamed of Sherlock when he fell to sleep, the pain of seeing the face of his deceased friend and flat-mate always caused him to weep. Sherlock was always there for him though, holding him gently and whispering words of comfort into his ear when he needed them the most. Every time he saw Sherlock in his dreams, John felt as though his heart was going to crumble away into little pieces of nothing but he couldn’t stop himself from dreaming of him. He loved him too much to keep away.  
“I really wish you were here with me, Sherlock.” John whispered both in his dream and aloud. A part of him wished that the actual Sherlock Holmes was sitting in the flat to hear him talk in his sleep, but he knew it wouldn’t happen; Sherlock was dead and that fact only caused him more hurt when he realized that Sherlock was never coming back.  
No matter how much Sherlock knew he was hurting John by taking the appearance of a dead friend, he couldn’t bring himself to change; he was in the form that brought John the most happiness. John’s mind was quite a jumble of conflicting thoughts regarding the late Sherlock Holmes but no matter how much emotional turmoil John was caused by Sherlock, Sherlock always did his best to help him, wanting to stay with him for as long as he possibly could each time John dreamt. He wanted to stay with John because John wanted Sherlock to stay with him and he was Sherlock, just not the actual Sherlock.  
“You could always stay here with me.” Sherlock suggested, tilting John’s head up to look up in the eyes, wiping a few tears away with his thumb, “You don’t have to leave and return to a place where you obviously aren’t happy.”  
John sniffed and wiped away his tears, looking up into the face of the man that had done absolutely nothing but pleasantly haunt him since he first had a nightmare about Sherlock’s fall after crying himself to sleep, wrapped up tightly in Sherlock’s bloodied black trench coat. Something was different about this dream though, Sherlock never asked him to stay; John had begged Sherlock to allow him to stay with him in countless numbers of dreams but Sherlock had always told him that he really shouldn’t, replying with a simple, “I can’t allow you. I’m sorry, John.” before kissing him and vanishing, leaving John to wake up alone in his bed and cry himself back to sleep. Now he was being asked to stay and there was only one answer that John could possibly give.  
“What will happen if I stay?”  
“If you stay, I’ll be here with you and I’ll never leave. You won’t ever have to suffer again.” Sherlock said, moving his hands from John’s lower back to his shoulder, turning him around and showing him the flat of 221B as it formed to John’s perfect memory of the place, looking exactly as John knew it to look, “This will become your reality if you want it to be, John.”  
Sherlock made it seem as though he was giving John a choice but he really wasn’t; he was playing on the fact that John would do anything to stay with Sherlock and that his mental state wasn’t really all that great which would affect his decision-making process, making him chose without actually thinking of the consequences of leaving reality for a dream world. He was doing what John wanted though, staying with him. He could make the dream so real that John would never know that it wasn’t truly, but in order to do that he needed John to make a choice; seeing Sherlock only when he dreamt and having to survive day-to-day life with obvious depression and suicidal thoughts or a more permanent sleep with a much happier life alongside Sherlock in eternity.  
“I-I want to stay with you.” John whispered, hesitating for only a moment as he turned around and held onto Sherlock tightly like he was going to vanish as he usually did and cause John to wake up. John then had a terribly dark thought of the permanent sleep of death followed by a bright thought of eternity alongside Sherlock, for he knew that if he were to stay in this dream with Sherlock, he would surely fall from reality. “Is there any way that you could come back to me?” John asked, “I… I don’t want to die.” he couldn’t bare the thought of losing Sherlock or his life.  
“You won’t die, John.” Sherlock said softly, pulling John to him and wrapping his arms around his waist, “It’s only sleep. As long as your eyes are closed, I will be here with you and you with me. I can’t come back to your world but you could stay in mine. I can’t be with you when you’re awake but I can stay with you in your sleep.” Sherlock looked deeply into John’s eyes, “I can be here for you for as long as you want me to be.”  
No harm would come to John as long as Sherlock was there to protect him, as long as John’s mind did not work against him. John trusted Sherlock in his life and trusted Sherlock in his dreams, following him where ever he was led. John rested his head against Sherlock’s warm chest, listening to the heart beat that he knew was only a trick of him mind; dead men’s hearts don’t beat for anyone. “Just sleep?” Sherlock was no angel of death, no taker of life. “Just sleep.” John gave a nod of his head, absolutely sure of his decision as he relaxed against Sherlock.  
"I'll stay."


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ll stay…”  
John’s grasp of reality slipped entirely from him with those two spoken words and his hold on the black trench coat lessened as his sleep took him deeper and deeper into the dream world, trapping his physical body in a comatose state. He was found nearly a day later by Mrs. Hudson who had him brought to the hospital, but John couldn’t tell the difference; he was asleep. He slept peacefully knowing that he didn’t have to worry, that Sherlock would keep him safe forever.  
“Forever is an awfully long time, John.” Sherlock said, knowing John’s every thought, looking over to the man who was typing away on his lap top, the man who was no doubt writing up a blog post. This dream world was as real as it could possibly be and John soon began to realize that he couldn’t really tell the difference between dreaming and living; it didn’t matter to him, he was with Sherlock. Sherlock stood from the couch and carefully shut John’s laptop to gain his attention, “But I don’t think I’ll mind it. I have you, after all.” Sherlock said, kissing the top of John’s head and watching as John’s smile grew.  
Sherlock couldn’t feel John’s warmth or any other sort of touch he received from John; he wasn’t real and thus he couldn’t feel, but John’s happiness brought him happiness, he didn’t need to physically feel John. Sherlock wasn’t completely devoid of emotion though, each time John spoke, “I love you.” Sherlock could feel himself sadden, knowing that the words weren’t meant for him but for a different Sherlock, the actual Sherlock.  
“Thank you for staying.” Sherlock said softly, John turning in his chair.  
“No, thank you for allowing me.” John smiled softly back before returning to typing. Sherlock smiled back.  
Sherlock wasn’t aware of John’s deteriorating state of health and neither was John, and even if Sherlock was aware, he deleted it from his mind; this was what John wanted, what they both wanted. John was smiling and laughing, typing up blog posts and solving crimes with Sherlock again and Sherlock saw absolutely nothing wrong with that. John, after a while, didn’t really seem to notice that he was in a dream, convincing himself that this was all real and the actual Sherlock’s death had been nothing at all but a bad dream, but something wasn’t quite right, something was off.  
John would be sitting at the table, drinking tea, and feel a warm touch surround his hand; when he looked up, Sherlock was quite obviously in the other room, but the warmth was still there. It would stay for a while before vanishing completely. John would be working at the clinic and he would hear a voice echo in his head, a voice that sounded oddly like Sherlock’s, but Sherlock wasn’t there. It only happened every so often, so John pushed it from his mind at that was the end of that; he could ignore it.  
But there were times when John couldn’t ignore it; he felt strange, like he didn’t quite belong in this world, that this wasn’t real, that it was all some sort of illusion. He no longer knew that this was a dream and occasionally, over a cup of tea, he would ask Sherlock about it, “Sherlock,” he would always start and Sherlock knew he would have to come up with a believable response or risk John becoming unhappy, risk John’s sub-conscience breaking through, “Sherlock, is this alright?” he asked, no longer the John that was happy to live in a complete lie, the John that knew this was all a dream, “Is it alright to be in this state of mind, not knowing if this is all real or just a dream? Not knowing when and if I will ever wake up? Being so hopelessly in love with a… a dead man that I want to join him?”  
Sherlock set down his newspaper and answered his questions according to what he knew John wanted to hear. On most days, Sherlock was able to keep John completely happy and content, giving him anything and everything he could ever ask for. It was, after all, just a dream and Sherlock could really give John the Queen’s jewels if he wanted them. But Sherlock was always worried when John’s rationality seeped into the dream, worried that the dream might shatter and ruin John’s happiness. Sherlock, as the actual one had been in life, was clever though, always able to convince John that this wasn’t a dream and that Sherlock was alive, that he really was Sherlock, and that they were living their pleasant lives together in 221B.  
John never thought much past Sherlock’s answers, usually slipping right back into the dream and completely forgetting any suspicions he might have once had, today was different, though. “Sherlock, what if I die?” he pressed on, “What if I die and you’re still alive, sitting by my bedside as I waste away?” John was beginning to figure things out, atoning his shifts in mood to someone sitting by his bedside, blaming the warmth on his hand to someone dear holding it. “What if you’re waiting for me in the real world? What if I decide to go back there?”  
John looked to his hand, feeling the warmth again. “I want to go back.” he stated, covering his hand with his other, “I want to wake up.” Sherlock put his newspaper away, giving John his full attention now, rather worried about him. What if John did wake up? Sherlock did not want to lose him; he would not allow John to wake up.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Sherlock stated firmly, standing up and gently pulling John to his feet, bringing him into an embrace, “I don’t know how many times I gave told you but I will keep you safe. You’re not going to die.” Sherlock tilted John’s chin up to look at him in the eyes, “And if you choose to leave, do you know what you’ll have to face, have to deal with? My death John. I am dead out there, alive in here. We’re happy here; I’m happy here. Aren’t you happy as well?”  
John had began to cry at the mention of Sherlock being dead, the topic still hurting him when he broke free from the dream illusion, “I am happy, I just… I just have this, this feeling and I-I know that…” he drew his teas away, taking in a deep breath, “I know that he’s alive, the real Sherlock is—”  
He stopped speaking, hearing a faint voice in his head, straining to listen to it better.  
“Some people say that coma patients can hear you when you talk to them…” it faded away for a moment, “I don’t know if it’s true or not but…” a warm touch to his cheek that didn’t come from the Sherlock in front of him, “I want you to wake up so badly… You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, John…” the voice faded completely along with the feeling of a gentle hand on his cheek.  
“How do I leave?” John asked, a look of strong determination in his eyes, having completely made up his mind. Sherlock Holmes, the real one, was alive and he was going to join him. “I want to wake up. Now.”  
Sherlock had never been hurt like this before with John being the cause of it. The image of 221B began to falter as darkness seeped through the picture a bit as the dream began to melt away. Sherlock was able to stop it, the flat returning to it’s normal state. Sherlock removed his arms from around John and took a step back, “You want to leave after everything I’ve done for you? After all we’ve been through together” Sherlock drew in a breath to try to calm his anger, “You want to leave? After all of this? Is this how you repay me, John, for being there for you and protecting you?” he was practically yelling.  
John took a hesitant step back, not sure how he liked Sherlock becoming this angry. The real Sherlock had never gotten this angry. Sherlock took a step forward, gripping John’s forearms tightly, “I thought you loved me! Or was that just a lie? Was I just filling in for the great Sherlock Holmes all this time? I am Sherlock Holmes! I am the best Sherlock Holmes that ever was and I am far greater than him!” his grip grew tighter and John tried to pull away, becoming scared, “You can’t leave me, John. I won’t allow you to take my happiness away.”  
Sherlock pulled John deeper into the dream, John standing frozen beneath his grasp, quivering slightly as he felt himself slipping away to be slowly replaced by the John that was happy living a lie with this monster, this crude copy, living in a nightmare. “You can’t leave me, John.”  
Tears were streaming down John’s face and when Sherlock let go of his arms, he feel to the floor, his body tensing up, “Sh-Sherlock…” John breathed out shakily, hearing a loud sound buzzing in his ears, a loud, continuos tone, “I-I don’t feel so good…” he gasped, holding onto his chest. He couldn’t get the buzzing from his ears and his heart was hurting, “I-I want to… wake up…”  
“This-this wasn’t supposed to happen!” Sherlock exclaimed, also hearing the continuous buzz, knowing that it was the heart monitor in the hospital and that it had just stopped; John was dying, “John, John, don’t, please, don’t!” he called, kneeling on the floor next to John and trying to shake him to keep him awake, “Don’t sleep, you can’t sleep in a dream, you can’t sleep in a dream! Wake up! Wake up!” he shook him harder as the scenery began to melt away into blackness, “Please!"  
Despite Sherlock’s yelling, John’s eyes drifted shut and Sherlock began to fade alongside everything else, leaving John in complete darkness, the eternal darkness of death.


End file.
